


CATastrophe

by chasing_the_sterek



Series: Inktober 2017 [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (it's not for a case), Childishness, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, HAPPY EVERYONE OKAY, Happy, It's For a Case, Kittens, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Slice of Life, So Much Laughter, THIS IS A HAPPY FIC, honestly they're so cheerful it's obscene, if. . . you're wearing those goggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_the_sterek/pseuds/chasing_the_sterek
Summary: "Coo-ee, boys!" She pokes her head into 221B, cradling her passenger safely in her hands. "I found this little one scratching at my door -""They're getting out!" John yelps as about half of the cats in the room surge towards new opportunities, and suddenly Sherlock is diving towards her."Mrs Hudson, is the door closed downstairs?"///There are kittens. . .everywhere.You may think it's a slight issue. You may think it's a little unusual. You may even think it's an infestation.It's just an average night in at Baker Street.





	CATastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> eeeAAAGGHHHHHH I MISSED YESTERDAY'S POSTING BC I FELL ASLEEP SO HERE IT IS LATE
> 
> I AM ENTIRELY UNASHAMED OF MY TITLE
> 
> This one's prompt was "cats/fear"

"Coo-ee, boys!" She pokes her head into 221B, cradling her passenger safely in her hands. "I found this little one scratching at my door -"

"They're getting out!" John yelps as about half of the cats in the room surge towards new opportunities, and suddenly Sherlock is diving towards her.

"Mrs Hudson, is the door closed downstairs?"

"Mine isn't, no, but the front door is," she answers as he sweeps past. A hand lifts to her mouth to hide the smile that's threatening to rise at the sight of several overenthusiastic kittens on the heels of a frantic Sherlock. She's far too used to things worse than this happening.

John meets her eyes from where he's sat on his chair, over however many kittens there are in his lap, and grins widely. He nods his head towards Sherlock's chair, where even more kittens are either viciously attacking and shredding the man's dressing gown or attempting to ignore the others so they can sleep on it.

"I expect he's not best pleased, is he?"

John smiles. "No, he's pissed as all hell -"

_"John Watson!"_

John's smile widens into a blatantly cheeky grin. He's laughing by the time he's finished ducking her swat, years younger even with the smile lines around his eyes. "- but I managed to interrupt long enough to point out that at least they hadn't gone for the coat."

And then Mrs Hudson has to laugh, too, because the mind's eye image of Sherlock steadfastly wearing a torn coat with fifty different shades of cat fur covering all of it, kittens spilling out of his pockets, is just too good.

"I do hope he put it away," she frets, and then it turns out he hasn't, and so she steps carefully over the kittens trying to climb the second set of stairs and lays it on John's bed. "John, would you like me to put yours here as well?" she calls down.

"No, no, that's fine, Mrs Hudson," John yells. His voice is closer. "Unlike _someone -"_ There's a quiet _oof_ and a snicker. "- I don't have some great expensive monstrosity of a coat, so it doesn't matter if I get cat fur all over it. Thanks, though."

"You weren't making fun of it during that cold snap last December," Sherlock teases.

There's another noise, more of a yelp this time, and then more muffled laughter over the thud that follows. She has her suspicions, and sure enough when she starts back down the stairs John isn't wearing any shoes.

She levels a stare at his too-innocent expression. "Did you throw your shoes at Sherlock?"

"No," John says, smiling beatifically at her. He steps forwards just in time to avoid something that hits the wall and thumps to the floor, trailing its laces.

"He's lying, Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouts, but there's a grin in his voice that matches the one on John's face as he hollers something back about rounding up the kittens in her flat.

(They're children. Her tenants are absolute children.

Oh, she loves them to pieces.)

"Is there any particular reason for all of these kittens?" She picks one up off the sofa so she can sit down, and raises an eyebrow at John while she strokes it. (Ooh, she feels like a Bond villain.) "Or are we all just indulging Sherlock on one of his while again? Pets aren't allowed, you know."

"There're a lot of busy roads, as well," John agrees. "Heart of the city isn't really the best place to raise a hundred kittens."

"Of course not," Mrs Hudson says. "Did you know, my sister and I had a cat growing up that lived to be sixteen years old? Yes, ever so old, and blind, the poor thing. Got hit by a bus when she was three, strong as anything, she was, surviving it and all. I've heard of people who've been killed by the same thing. Must have been her lucky day - ah, sorry, dear, didn't mean to drift off there -"

"It's alright, I'm interested," John says from the kitchen. He wanders back in and hands her a cup of tea before sitting back down. "I would have liked a cat at some point, or maybe a dog."

"Cats are really much more independent, aren't they?" She nods. "And with the hours you two keep. . . that reminds me, I meant to ask, have you got any cases on?"

John's lips twitch. "Not at the moment, no, no matter how much that one claims this whole thing is for a case."

He makes a head movement towards the door. Mrs Hudson nods again knowledgeably. "Bit of a softie, that one, and a lot like a cat himself, if you ask me -"

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock hollers from downstairs.

"Speak of the devil!" She laughs. "I'd better see what he wants, just a tick," she says, popping her cup down onto the coffee table and slipping a piece of paper over it so none of the kittens will try to drink it.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock bellows again, just as she's positioning it better. "Do you have a -"

He cuts himself off with a loud screech.

John makes a face. "He's just been bitten again, hasn't he?"

Mrs Hudson watches, still half-risen from the sofa, as Sherlock staggers out into the hallway among a writhing sea of kittens trying to play-fight with him, lift up a bleeding ankle and make an overdramatically horrified face at it.

"He has, yes."

Sherlock manages to battle his way up the stairs only to have to make an abrupt last-minute u-turn and collapse onto the sofa instead of his chair. The effect is ruined by the funny twist he does halfway down to avoid squashing a kitten who decided that _just then_ was the perfect time to jump onto the sofa.

Her hands comes up to her mouth again. "Oh, Sherlock," she giggles.

Sherlock turns his head to scowl at her. "It's not funny, Mrs Hudson. I don't understand why they - ow - insist upon attacking me -"

"They're just trying to play," John says. He's far too chipper to not be amused by Sherlock's antics, but there's a kitten rubbing itself against his face and it makes for a much more effective barrier than her hand does.

Sherlock's mouth twists in frustration. "Then why aren't they hurting _you?"_

John lifts his feet. A few kittens tumble off, landing safely on the floor not even thirty centimetres below them, but double that number stay doggedly (ha!) attached to his socks and flesh.

"Oh," Mrs Hudson says, voice wavering with humour, and starts to laugh in earnest when a kitten growls and manages to tug John's left sock even further off of his foot than it had been before. Its back paws are nearly touching the ground, it's dangling so low.

Sherlock starts to laugh as well, deep and genuine. "How long have they been doing that?"

"About an hour, on and off," John says offhandedly. He turns another page of his book. "You didn't notice, they were starting the Dressing Gown Siege."

Mrs Hudson's mouth twitches, and Sherlock shoots her a look so aghast she can't help but snort.

"Even you have to admit you were being a tad overdramatic, Sherlock," she says.

"Mrs _Hudson!"_

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again, I hate the ending
> 
> (the idea was originally that the murderer was afraid of cats or something, to link the two together? But I like this better)
> 
> Hopefully I'll get today's up too, but idk if it'll be any good bc the prompt is not firing me up tbh


End file.
